


could it be the devil in me

by juliusschmidt



Series: harry, you little shit [6]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Confessions, Dubious Consent, Feelings, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Secrets, Self-Lubrication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1366531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his first heat, Harry resolves to tell Louis everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	could it be the devil in me

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series. You'll want to start at the beginning ([x](http://archiveofourown.org/works/946132)). 
> 
> About halfway through the story arc! So grateful for Melanie's quick and fantastic beta work. <3 All mistakes are mine, of course. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry wakes up to an empty room, damp and mortified. His arse is sticky, oozing and achingly empty, and his front, pressed tight to the mattress, is covered in fresh, quickly drying come.  The sheets on the hotel bed cling to his sweaty, feverishly hot skin. He’s never experienced anything like this before, but he’s read about it and he recognizes it. _Heat._  

So Simon had been right, Harry’d been close last night. That’s why everyone had been able to scent him, why the interviewer had gotten so close and sniffed him, why Louis had been _so_ mindlessly desperate to be inside him.

_Louis_ , Harry thinks again, and his cock throbs. He wishes Louis were here with him now. He closes his eyes and imagines Louis’ beneath him, arching up to meet the shallow thrusts of Harry’s hips. Harry reaches a hand behind himself and presses into the tight wetness of his hole and, in his head, it’s Louis’ hand in him, Louis’ fingers curling up, Louis’ scent wrapping around him.

In the back of his mind, Harry can recognize that he’s not quite himself. He’s never _touched_ himself like this before because it had seemed wrong _,_  indecent,  _wanton_. He knows that, if not for his heat, he wouldn’t be doing this- wouldn’t be fingering himself, desperate to get off, again, in the hotel room he’s sharing with his mum and sister. If not for a volatile cocktail of hormones, he- lucky omega that he is- wouldn’t be imagining Louis pounding, equally frantic, into his arse.

But his heat _is_ upon him and doing so feels _wonderful_. He’d expected the lack of bodily and emotional control that omegas profess to experience during heat to be terrifying and painful. Though those feelings are present, Harry also feels _free_ , and almost _high_.  

He lets sensation fully envelop him, reveling in the smooth friction of the cotton sheets against his skin, in the fluttery tightness building and _building_ low in his belly, and in the slick heat and erratic pulsing of his hole around his fingers. Again, he pictures Louis behind him, inside him, knotting him, and filling him. He comes, trembling.

After, he lies still, panting heavily, his eyes wet, trying to come down. His body tingles all over and he can’t seem to slow his breathing. He realizes, mind foggier than before, that his dick is hard again or maybe it’s still hard. He remembers with horror and not a small amount of panic this desire, this _sexual hunger_ , it doesn’t go away. It may stay with him for days. The heady pleasure of his spectacular orgasm dissolves.

Time passes, maybe minutes, maybe hours, Harry can’t be certain, and he refrains from getting himself off again, trying to prove to himself that he’s okay, that he doesn’t _need_ it.

He startles when a knock sounds on the door. He doesn’t want to answer it. He doesn’t want anyone to see him, or even smell him, like this. It’s embarrassing and probably unsafe.

A voice shouts, “Harry. I’m the gender specialist that Simon’s arranged. Dr. Cal Aurand. I’m here to help you.”

“I can’t right now,” Harry calls. Because he just _can’t_. “I’ve started my heat. We’ll have to do this later.”

He hears the man sigh. “I know you have, Harry. I have hormone suppressants that can dull some of your symptoms but you have to let me in.”

Thoughtfully, Harry presses a palm to his aching dick and decides it’s worth the risk. Probably. He lets him in.

~

The meeting with Cal, as the doctor had later asked to be called (with a tool-ish ‘Dr. Aurand’s still my dad’), proved to be both a blessing and curse. The hormone suppressants he’d given Harry were a blessing. While he still felt _different,_ warmer and wetter and hornier than usual, the intensity had dimmed significantly. The instructions Cal’d given Harry as to future heats were also a blessing, too, because despite some of the inconveniences he predicted- missed concerts, overzealous admirers, soaked pants- he’d been pretty confident Harry could keep his gender hidden, as long as he’d like to _without bonding_.

(Apparently, Cal had helped a few other semi-famous omegas through similar circumstances before. To Harry’s dismay, he wouldn’t say who.)

The curse was this: Cal was 100% certain Harry would need allies and confidants. He wouldn’t be able to pull this off on his own. He needed to tell the boys everything, and soon.

After his heat had passed, Harry relayed the advice to his mother and sister and they’d wholeheartedly agreed, expressing confusion at his reluctance.

“But they clearly love you,” Gemma had said, tucking a curl behind Harry’s ear. “That’s not going to change because you’ve found out you’re an omega. It didn’t for us, did it?”

Harry pouted. “You’re my _family_. And you’re betas.”

“Are you worried that they’ll pursue you, dear?” His mother had asked. “Because attraction doesn’t work like that, honey. If they liked you, they’d already do.”

Harry hadn’t really been able to explain it to them. He’s a little worried that boys will want him out because of the risk. Like Simon had said: an unbonded omega is a liability. And he’s a little worried that they’ll be angry with him for keeping a secret. But he’s mostly terrified about how Louis will react after all they’ve done together. What if he hates Harry and, like, thinks that he’s been manipulated or something? What if he wants to stop?

What if he doesn’t?

Harry thinks that his body is maturing to adulthood and so maybe he can be an adult about relationship stuff, too. He should talk to Louis, in private, before telling the band.

Naturally, Christmas comes and goes, contracts are written and signed, and Harry continues to exchange kisses and handjobs with Louis, without saying a word to him or the boys about his gender. What had started as a confusing omission and become secret now feels as though it’s turning into an outright lie.  

~

Harry feels strangely relieved when Louis texts him in the second week of January, asking if they can go out to lunch together, just the two of them. He responds immediately, _yes_

After a few minutes, Louis sends back, _good we need to talk bad._

Harry’s stomach drops, because what if Louis’ found out, what if he somehow got wind of the truth about Harry’s identity. Harry doesn’t think anyone outside his family, Simon, and Cal know, not for sure, but they might be able to figure it out.

Then, Harry wonders if maybe it’s about their _thing_. Maybe Louis wants to stop. Harry remembers him mentioning that other omega, Hannah, whom he’d apparently helped through a heat. Maybe while Louis was home over Christmas they’d reconnected. What he and Louis are doing is so _inappropriate_ , more so because Louis thinks they’re both _alphas_.  A relationship with a female omega would be much safer and probably a lot more satisfying.

Harry doesn’t want Louis to stop wanting him, especially not because he’s found someone else.

Terrified, and hoping to impress, Harry insists on choosing the restaurant. He even makes reservations and asks for a table on the balcony. Like grown-ups on a real date, in a real relationship, they’ll have dinner together and tell each other all their secrets and exactly how they feel about one another.

Harry arrives twenty minutes early and Louis twenty minutes late, so Harry has plenty of time to plan what he wants to say. Instead, he frets through several levels of Candy Crush and allows Louis to direct the conversation when he arrives.

Louis seems happy to do so. Pulling out his chair and surveying the place, Louis says, “You’ve really outdone yourself, Haz. Trying to push our bromance, eh?”

Harry grins, “This will send them all a twitter.” He winks, just in case Louis didn’t catch the pun. Louis beams at him.

They’re quiet for a moment, Harry thinks about the things he’s read people _saying_ about him and Louis. They’re much ruder about Louis than they are about him, actually.

He asks, “Do it bother you, what they say about you?”

It’s maybe an invasive question. Louis probably won’t want to answer. But, hey, Harry’s all about honesty today, so.

Louis wraps the cloth napkin around his wrist and doesn’t look at Harry when he says, “That I’m terrible at footie? Yeah, definitely.”

Harry shakes his head and turns his mouth down. He’s not in the mood to play, not about this. Louis must catch sight of the motion because he says, tone more serious than before, “That I’ve got the worst voice of the lot of us?”

Indignant, Harry shouts, “Lou! They do not say that!” Harry hasn’t read a lot of comments about their singing because the occasional criticism makes him inconsolably sad. But he’s sure people aren’t trashing Lou’s voice because that would be stupid and wrong.

Louis’ discomfort is rising. Harry can feel it prickling his own skin. He wishes he were old enough to order a cocktail or a bottle of champagne. That would calm them both down, maybe. It would certainly be quite classy.

“You know what I mean,” Harry presses. “About you liking boys better than girls.”

Louis eyebrows furrow and he brushes at his fringe. Tone light and words quick, he replies, “Don’t be ridiculous. I like omegas best, like any alpha. It’s biology.”

“I bet you like boy omegas best of all, though.” The words are out of Harry’s mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. _Fuck._ This is not how he’d planned to confess.

But now that he’s started he might as well finish. “I mean, like m-“

Louis cuts him off. “Okay, fine. You’re right. That’s partly why I thought we should talk.” The twisted napkin is pulled very tightly around Louis’ wrist. Harry thinks it might be cutting off his circulation.

Harry breathes out. It sounds like maybe Louis _knows_ , maybe he’s okay with Harry, with _everything._ Maybe he’ll even want to _help_ Harry. Harry’s not sure that’s what he wants, but he would like the option. And _definitely_ does not want Louis to upset with him.  

“I _do_ like boys better than girls. Fuck, Harry. I like getting off with you better than with the female omega I’d had back home.” He shifts in his seat and meets Harry’s eyes, finally. “I’m sure I’ll end up bonded to a male omega.”

“You’re sure?” Harry’s surprised. They’re so young with a huge uncertain future gaping wide in front of them. Harry doesn’t feel sure of anything. Even if he _wanted_ to bond someday, he couldn’t feel certain that it would be a sure thing. Not now.

Louis grins, though. “A hundred percent, yeah.” Louis’ certainty is bright, happy, and for a moment, it has Harry curious. He wonders if the two of them, he and Louis, could figure out how to actually be together.  As Harry takes in the soft smile lighting Louis’ face, he thinks that the two of them might be able to, like, work around certain expectations of bondmates. Harry thinks Louis might want that, too, that maybe that’s what he’s trying to say with this _talk_. Except then Louis adds, “But, until I find my bondmate, what we’re doing is cool.”

And Harry remembers that he hasn’t actually told Louis that _he_ is a male omega. Fortunately or unfortunately, Louis hasn’t figured it out for himself. And, Harry guesses, if he knew, everything would be different. Louis wants a normal bond, probably, with an omega that’s _his_ in a way Harry knows he’ll never be, not as long as he’s performing. And he wants to perform forever.

Louis frowns. He’s tucked a leg up underneath him and leaned forward toward Harry, chin on fist. He’s radiating anxiety again and the way it wells up inside Harry has him biting his lip. Louis says, “You don’t want to? Okay, that’s fine. We can stop.” The words come out quick and sharp, stinging Harry.

“No, Lou. I want to! Obviously, I like boys, too.” It’s true enough, an admission that doesn’t feel difficult to say aloud, though Louis had made the exact same statement seem like a _dramatic_ confession, only minutes before. Still, Louis looks skeptical so Harry reaches out to wrap his fingers around Louis’ wrist and adds, “I like you.”

As soon as he says it, he regrets it. The disclosure seems huge, too huge.

Obviously, Harry likes Louis and vice versa; they’ve become close friends, best friends. They _know_ each other. While in the X Factor house, they’d learned how to make each other smile, laugh, gasp, moan, and come, spilling over each other’s fists. Really, it’s the easiest friendship Harry’s ever been in, _and_ it has some fantastic benefits.

But, as he meets Louis’ eyes across the table, so blue, so open, Harry knows that Louis knows Harry hadn’t been referring to the fact that he likes knowing all Louis’ favorite bands and or that he enjoys occasionally shoving a hand down Louis’ pants.

Harry’s ‘like’ is so, _so_ much bigger than that. Harry can now pick out Louis’ feelings from across large rooms packed tight with other alphas. He’s learning how melt into Louis’ feelings and work them this way or that, smooth ruffled feathers and settle buzzing nerves.   If ‘One Direction’ busts after the X Factor tour, Harry doesn’t think he’ll be able to let Louis go.

Saying it aloud forces Harry to see the truth of it and to recognize the danger. As an omega, he should not be attaching himself to people, especially not alphas, and especially not like this, not if he wants to remain unbonded, not if he wants to have his own life.

He looks down to where his fingers are still wrapped tight and hot, like a brand, around Louis’ wrist.

Louis coos and, without any of his usual bite or sarcasm, says, “Hey, babe, that’s good. Really good. I like you, too. I _really_ like you.”

Harry’s so confused. Louis thinks they’re both alphas, thinks what they’re doing is an ugly taboo, thinks that there’s no future for them, and still, he seems so calm about it, so happy with Harry.

When Harry looks up at him, Louis’ smile is soft, tentative, and Harry feels a rush of guilt. He needs to tell him the truth.

Louis says, “I brought something for you.” His voice is bright and a little mischievous, and Harry can’t stop himself from grinning. He _loves_ presents.

“Yeah?” He asks, curious. Louis hadn’t come in with a bag or even a bulky coat. The gift must fit in his pocket. Harry hopes it’s jewelry. The thought of _wearing_ something Louis’ given him on his finger or around his neck, where everyone can see, makes something uncurl, low and warm, in his stomach. He tries not to think of the gendered implications. Between him and Louis, that type of memento wouldn’t be about courtship or bonding. Louis doesn’t even know that Harry’s an omega.

“Yeah, hold on,” Louis says, his eyes flick right and left, before he ducks down. Maybe he’s stuck whatever it is in his shoe. Then, Louis disappears from view completely, under the table, and Harry’s stomach drops in anticipation.

The tablecloth rustles as Louis shuffles close and shoves the end of it up into Harry’s lap. Harry looks, a little frantically, at the people around them. Sure, the heavy, white fabric covers Louis pretty well, but, really, with the way it’s now hanging over Harry’s legs, anyone looking closely would be able to tell something’s off. And once they saw the flush that Harry can feel creeping onto his cheeks, they’d know for certain.

Louis goes straight for Harry’s zipper, quick to pull out Harry’s cock, already half hard. Underneath him, Harry’s arse pulses and he’s glad he wore his darkest jeans. Harry can barely jack himself off anymore without getting wet. It’s equal parts embarrassing and intriguing. Cal had suggested finding himself a dildo, and Harry thinks he might, before his next heat, at least.

Louis fingers feel uncomfortably cool as they tighten around him to jerk a few times, slow and even. Harry’s fully hard in seconds, the friction warming them both. Harry reaches for his water, trying to look calm, normal, totally chill.

This turns out to be a poor choice because, when Louis wraps his mouth around Harry’s dick, his wrist jerks and he splashes water down his front. He manages to set the water down, intending to grab a napkin to dab at his front, but before he can, he’s distracted by the suction of Louis’ lips and tongue pulling tight and wet around him.

Louis’ never done this for him before and Harry hadn’t really expected him to, _ever._ Alphas aren’t really known for their generosity during sex, except maybe to a bondmate in heat. And every alpha Harry’d ever talked to (just the other lads) had cringed at the idea of another man’s dick inside them. Louis himself had even made an ugly face and wretching noises when Zayn had suggested they offer to suck Simon off in exchange for putting them through to the finals.  

Louis doesn’t seem disgusted now, though. His head is bobbing eagerly, occasionally brushing up against the top of the table just enough to rattle the dishes. And his scent is wafting up, warm and rich, teasing Harry. Louis’ definitely getting off on this, too, and the thought makes Harry’s arse clench again, fully wet now. He can imagine, practically feel the bulge of Louis’ knot growing and filling with come.

All of Harry’s energy is consumed in trying not to squirm or moan. He wants to reach beneath the table, lace his fingers through Louis’ hair, and guide Louis’ head, because just a slight change of angle would, Harry knows, send him over the edge. But he doesn’t dare.

He’s sure the fact that he can’t think, can’t move, can’t breathe is written all over his face. And when Louis reaches up a hand to cup Harry’s balls, still trapped in his jeans, Harry gasps aloud.

Their waitress is walking right toward him and in an attempt to catch Louis’ attention Harry bangs a fist onto the table. Louis pulls off his dick, but keeps his hand clasped firmly around Harry’s balls. Harry lets out a shaky breath.

“Hello,” the waitress greets him, with a smile and a bat of her eyelashes. She’s an omega, one on the lookout for a mate. Her hips sway just so, and she’s pulled her hair back, subtly drawing attention to her bared neck.  Judging by the sweet scent clouding around her, Harry thinks she’s probably close to her heat.

Harry smiles and nods back at her, not yet trusting his voice.

“You were on The X Factor? Harry, right?” She asks and then, with a giggle, adds, “Oh wow, you _do_ smell like pizza.”

Louis’ got a hand resting on the top of Harry’s thigh and, at girl’s flirtatious tone, it tightens. Harry’s grateful it’s that hand that squeezes and not the other around his sack.

“Um,” he says.

“Has your friend, or, like, your date arrived?” She’s searching, trying to see if he’s attached, and it makes Harry a little uncomfortable. Louis fingernails are beginning to bite into him through his jeans.

“Yes, he just had to run to the loo,” Harry says, refusing to clarify the status of his dinner partner, partly because she’s rude and partly because he’s not quite sure how to classify Louis.

“I could keep you company,” The waitress says, apparently completely unconcerned with professionalism. Harry hopes her audacity is due to her heat and not simply an appalling lack of manners. Louis’ nails are now pressing painfully into his leg and, instead of calming him, it sends a jolt of electricity up through his groin and back to where he’s now leaking onto his pants.  

“Tea,” Harry grates out. “We’d like tea to start.” It’s short, and not polite at all, as she hasn’t even asked for his order. Under any other circumstances Harry would try to make nice with her, but, right now, he’d really like her to leave. He’d like Louis’ mouth back on him. He’d like to fucking come.

“Okay, Harry,” She murmurs and then winks. “I’ll be right back.”

“Fucking finish, Lou,” Harry hisses as soon as she’s out of earshot.

Without hesitation, Louis resumes sucking, taking more and more of Harry into his mouth. The farther in he goes, the tighter, wetter, and hotter it feels. When the head of Harry’s cock presses against something soft at the back of Louis’ throat, Harry has to close his eyes, concentrating harder than ever on not making a sound.

He lets out a little mewl anyway, helpless to stop it, and as soon as it’s out no longer cares who hears or sees or knows.

Slowly, Louis drags himself backward, taking away his mouth, only to replace it a second later with the hand that’s been resting on Harry’s leg. He jerks Harry quick and hard, a little too dry to be perfect. But they both know that Harry _likes_ it rough, that the speed, the sharp, not-quite-pain gets him off.

His orgasm hits him, an explosion of sensation sizzling out from his groin to arse and up his spine. He realizes he’s panting, open mouthed. Louis catches his come with a rough cloth, a napkin, and wipes him down.

As Harry opens his eyes, breathing deeply, he notices an ache in his right palm. He blinks down at it. A butter knife, now sitting loose in his grip, has made a line of half-moon marks in his skin. He drops it and it clatters against his fork and spoon.

Louis pops up across from him, the top of his hair a mess from where it’s been rubbing against the underside of the table. Louis’ lips are dark pink and wet, and his smile is bright. Harry’s heart clenches.

He really does _like_ Louis.

“Thank you.” Harry’s voice sounds obscenely rough, but that doesn’t surprise him as much as the hoarseness of Louis’ reply.

“Any time,” he says.

They’re silent for a moment, just smiling at each other, a little stupidly. Harry wants to hold Louis’ hands, but he _knows_ people would see and, maybe, speculate. The waitress recognized him. _Fuck_. He hadn’t thought there would be bad parts of being kind of famous.

Voice still a rasp, Louis tells him, “That wasn’t the present.”

Harry frowns. He’d forgotten there was supposed to be a present.

He watches Louis dig in his pocket. Finally, he manages to free whatever it is he’s after. He gestures for Harry to open up his hand and Harry complies. Into his palm, right on top of the teeth marks left from the knife, Louis presses a little monkey attached to metal ring.

“For our house key, when we find a place,” Louis explains.

Harry should tell him he’s changed his mind. Living together is a risk too large for Harry to take. And, once he knows the truth about Harry, Louis probably won’t want to live together anyway. But right now, meeting Louis’ gaze across the table, Harry can’t do it.

He wraps fingers around the key ring, letting the plastic monkey dangle above the table. “I love it,” he says. “I can’t wait to use it.”   

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr [juliusschmidt](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Title from [(Love is Like a) Heat Wave](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XE2fnYpwrng) by Martha Reeves and the Vandellas.


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